The Power of Deception
by Gwen's Blue Box
Summary: In which John intends to have a quiet evening and watch a film, Sherlock completely disturbs his peace and cannot stop commenting, in which there are comparisons to fictive characters and John finally deduces something. /One-shot, crack. Written just for fun, not in the least serious.


Hello there!

Feeling the sudden urge to produce something... not sad and not serious, this one-shot happened. Slightly crack, I suppose. And absolutely pointless.

I don't own anything.

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**The Power of Deception**

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John had been looking forward to watching the film, really. He had even thought to buy crisps for a perfectly lazy evening on the sofa in front of the telly, but now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Not with Sherlock being here, too.

Originally, John had assumed him to be busy with their most recent case, but unfortunately - for both John and Sherlock - it had only been a six, and Sherlock had solved it within a few hours, the result of which being that he now was at home, bored, and in a rather grumpy mood.

And that he was going to watch the film with John.

"'The Hobbit'," Sherlock began commenting immediately. "What kind of title is that, John?"

John barely stifled a sigh and put the crisps away. "It's what they're called," he explained. "His people," gesturing towards the main character on screen. "The film's about him, and that's why it's called like that."

Wow, that had been surprisingly patient. If Sherlock was to be satisfied so easily throughout the entire evening, John would be perfectly content.

Just as he relaxed a bit and started enjoying the film, Sherlock decided to interfere again: "Why are they singing so much? It's rather atrocious, don't you think?"

John huffed and decided to reply nothing.

But Sherlock didn't give up yet. "Trolls, John, seriously? There are no trolls, and if there were, they wouldn't have names so… so ridiculous!" He almost snorted in disbelief.

This time, John sighed. "It's just a film, Sherlock. And by the way, how do even know how these trolls are called?"

"Oh please," Sherlock snapped. "Have you never read the book? They're mentioned in it."

John almost dropped the glass he had been holding in his left hand. "Read the book?" he choked.

"The book, yes, of course," Sherlock repeated impatiently. "Not exactly new, so even you should know it."

After having taken a large sip from his glass to prevent himself from suffocating on his crisps, John still couldn't believe it. "I know the book," he replied, more to himself. "Only wouldn't have expected _you_ of all people to have read it."

"It was that or have tea with Mycroft," Sherlock replied distractedly, fiddling with the DVD cover.

He was quiet for another fifteen minutes. "Oh, come on," he then muttered, clearly trying to arouse John's attention. "How likely is that? If you take only one look at the cave and compare it to where they end up, you…"

"Yeah, it's alright, Sherlock," John interrupted him, setting down his crisps. "Listen, I actually just want to watch a film, right? I don't want to analyse it or to discuss the size of hobbit feet or…"

"I haven't mentioned the feet yet," Sherlock interjected, sighing. "I presume you want me to be quiet?"

"Yes, that would be… good," John replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. Why was it so difficult to simply enjoy a film when Sherlock was at home?

Surprisingly enough, he remained silent for a rather large amount of time (if John didn't take his constant and supposedly meaningful yawning into consideration). Quite astonished by the quietness in the flat, it was John who broke the silence first.

"Of course you could've solved the riddles much faster, couldn't you," he started teasing Sherlock.

"Riddles, hm?" Sherlock responded vaguely. When John shot him a quick look, he noticed the pile of crisps Sherlock had built on the floor. "Sherl-," he started protesting, but then interrupted himself. "Oh, never mind." Another fast glance towards the bowl showed him that there were enough crisps left to make it to the end of the film.

"Fairly simple," Sherlock stated only seconds later, not averting his gaze from the little crisps tower he had built. "Even you could have found the right solutions."

Brilliant. John stopped chewing and pressed his lips together. "Even I?" he repeated.

"Yes," Sherlock replied absentmindedly, bending down to the pile of crisps. "By the way, this… what's his name? Bilbo… reminds me of you, somehow." He seemed to contemplate the thought for a few seconds while John turned to face him, exasperated. "He reminds you of me?" he repeated, the film and its climax almost forgotten.

"Hm," Sherlock hummed. "Additionally, he rather looks like you, don't you think? Small…"

Sherlock wasn't able to finish because of the pillow John had thrown at him. "Oh, shut up," he demanded. "I don't compare you to… to… anyone from the film either."

Sherlock chuckled lowly and destroyed his crisp tower with one toss of his leg. "To whom would you want to compare me," he waved off John's comment.

John felt his brows twitching. There had to be someone, someone… "To the big, arrogant, pompous dragon sitting in his mountain and being too lazy to move away from his pile of gold," he finally came up with.

Sherlock huffed, and for a moment, John was reminded of that dragon indeed. "Really, John? Brilliant comparison. And what would be my mountain, and my gold?"

"Well…," John began, desperately thinking about something. "The sofa, and… cases too unimportant to require your attention. And now, can we please just finish watching the film, without any further comments and comparisons and stuff? Without talking, maybe?"

Sherlock only huffed again, but remained silent for the rest of the time.

As soon as the credits started, he sighed in exasperation. "So cliché, the ending," he muttered. "The brave dwarf, not being able to bear the shame brought on his family by his deathly opponent…"

Closing his eyes for a moment, John stood up. "Didn't know you were that _poetic_," he taunted. "I'll leave you to your musings now and go to bed."

With a dramatic sigh, Sherlock let his head fall back against the backrest of his armchair. "How dull," he mumbled. "I suppose even the film was more interesting than _sleeping_."

John barely stifled a sigh himself when he dumped his glass in the sink. He was never ever going to watch a film he liked with Sherlock. Never ever.

o

Sherlock apparently had not found any pleasure in watching that film, at least John thought so, going by his comments. But then, on the other, he had been silent for remarkably long periods of time during the evening. Why that was, John found out two days later.

He had just come home from a walk, jumping up the stairs to their flat, when somewhat familiar violin music greeted him.

Familiar violin music? Unusual, since John normally knew none of the classical pieces Sherlock tended to play - if he did play indeed and decided not to torture his violin.

"I'm back, Sherlock," he shouted, getting rid of his jacket.

No reply.

Sherlock had turned his back towards John, fully indulged in his music. In his familiar sounding music.

It took Sherlock a few minutes to notice that John was in the room - as long as John needed to make two cups of tea and appear with one of them directly in front of Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock greeted him, sounding surprised. "Didn't notice you were back."

"It's a miracle you've even noticed I'd gone out," John muttered under his breath while making his way to his armchair. "What are you playing?" he asked as soon as he had settled down comfortably.

Sherlock took a sip from his tea and picked up his instrument again. "The violin, obviously," he replied.

John rolled his eyes, setting aside the newspaper. "Yes, I got that, but what is the piece you're playing?"

"Music," Sherlock answered almost stupidly and started playing again, something different this time.

John started smirking. "You know," he said loudly enough for Sherlock to hear him. "I might not be a genius as you're one…"

"Obviously," Sherlock's voice could be heard above the tunes he was playing.

John ignored him, still grinning. "… but I recognise something I've heard before. And I recognise certain soundtracks. You're playing the main theme from 'The Hobbit', aren't you?"

Sherlock stopped abruptly, taking another sip from his tea. "Deduce whatever you want to," he muttered huskily, not looking at John.

John couldn't stop himself from giggling now. "Are you _blushing_?" he wanted to know.

Sherlock turned to face the wall again. "The power of deception, John," he stated. "You hear what you want to hear."

Fine then. No admitting. But John was sure of what he'd heard. "It's nice, you know," he continued, watching his flatmate from behind. "You could play it more often."

Sherlock only huffed, smoothly launching to some classical piece John had never heard of.

o

In that night, when John woke up screaming from another nightmare - they had become less frequent, but still occurred from time to time - and when he just wondered if he should go downstairs to fetch himself a glass of water and maybe a sleeping pill, he suddenly became aware of sweet tunes, sweets tunes on a violin he had heard before.

A certain soundtrack.

He smiled to himself, and after a few minutes of trying to control his breathing and listening to the music, he decided against the glass of water and instead rolled over, trying to find some more sleep.

Surprisingly enough, he did. He might even have dreamt of hobbits and Elves and trolls with stupid names.

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The idea for this came to me while I was listening to the Hobbit soundtrack, and I thought... why not?

Just a silly little idea that popped into my head and then had to be done.

Thank you for reading, by the way. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
